This is the Hour
by gethsemane342
Summary: It's funny how the events which make you can happen at any time. Chaff's life in 24 hours.


**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Hunger Games**_

**Rating: **for death

_Written for _Munirabella _who asked if I could write something about Chaff._

This is the Hour

_**00:00 - Midnight**_

"You OK?" Fescue asks as the clock tolls midnight.

A scream rends through the house. Chaff winces.

"No," he mutters. "I _need_ to be in there."

"You heard what Ceres said."

"But-"

"Stay out here! She knows what she's doing."

Another scream. Chaff continues to pace back and forth, rubbing the stump of his arm feverishly. Fescue tells him to sit down. Chaff ignores him.

Seconds tick on but they feel like hours. The screams continue.

"I don't care," Chaff snaps after a particularly loud one. "I'm going in."

"Chaff-"

The door opens and Poa smiles, gesturing for him to go in. Chaff rushes to his wife's side as she lies, weak and panting, on the bed.

"Congratulations," Ceres says to them as she hands Lemma a squirming bundle. "It's a girl."

Chaff looks into the face of his daughter as Lemma holds her and smiles. "She's beautiful."

_**01:00**_

He sits on his porch, hand clasped around an unopened bottle. He wants to open it but something stops him – the part which tells him he needs to think about this and come to a conclusion.

He's been sat there for three hours.

He growls and thinks through it logically. If he agrees to this, he'll be on Snow's death list. He'll be a rebel and slated to die. Whether he remains in District 11 and tries to orchestrate a rebellion from there or whether he's in the Quell, trying to fight for Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. He'll be tortured and killed.

A light breeze sweeps over his skin and he shivers. His hand reaches to itch a phantom itch. He's had too many years of watching people die to volunteer for it himself. But he wants the Capitol to be overthrown. That's what his stump was supposed to be. A promise to himself. Because they removed the scars on his back which signified his old promise.

His gaze drifts to the swing which he made, shortly after his daughter's birth. It's almost fallen apart from lack of use. He thinks of his daughter and his wife. He thinks of children like Rue and Thresh who died for Katniss Everdeen. And he realises that his dilemma was no dilemma at all.

He'll let them know at a more sensible time than one in the morning that he's in.

_**02:00**_

The boy on the screen looks around wildly, jerked from his sleep. It's the second day and tensions are still high. They only have one tribute left in the running – the boy.

He looks around the room, his eyes drooping. At two o'clock, most mentors are either asleep or their tributes have died. He spots the newest victor sitting a few seats away, staring feverishly at the monitor. The girl from District 12 is running and then Chaff's attention is drawn to the screen when he realises his own tribute has heard the noise.

The girl runs into him and there are a few seconds of confused movement before the Careers catch up and slaughter both of them. Chaff hears the sound of metal being kicked. He looks to his right and sees Haymitch Abernathy storm out of the room.

It's the fourth time that Chaff has mentored in the Hunger Games and the fourth time that he's had to watch his tribute die. He remembers the first time, Seeder had to sit with him and tell him there was nothing he could do. Now, although he still feels that dull ache, he just stands up and walks away, like the others. He wonders when he became immune to it and he wonders how long it will be before Haymitch Abernathy follows suit.

_**03:00**_

"I give up," he mutters. "I can't make it."

"You don't _need_ it," Lemma points out.

"Yeah, well, it's meant to be my talent and I've had two years to do something properly. If I can't make it, what talent can I show?"

"How about keeping your wife up? It's three in the morning, Chaff. You might not need sleep but I do!"

"But I'm meant to debut my talent tomorrow. I can't keep putting it off."

"You mean today."

He glowers at her but she laughs. He grins and kisses her on the cheek. They've only been married for three months – tolerance at being woken up at odd hours in the night is still high.

"Sorry," he says. And then something occurs to him. "Anyhow. You were saying earlier that you've got something to tell me."

"Yes?"

"What is it?"

"Now?"

"Well, I'm up. You're up. Reckon it's as good a time as any."

"I was going to save it for when you revealed your carvings."

"It's not gonna work so you may as well tell me now."

"You didn't wake me up, just to ask, did you?"

"No. Stop trying to wriggle out of it and tell me or I'm gonna do something terrible."

"Like?"

He leaps at her and tickles her with his hand until she's laughing hysterically and pleading with him to stop. He agrees only when she promises to tell him. She then instructs him to sit down.

"Chaff ... I'm pregnant."

"What?"

"I'm pregnant." Seeing his confused look, she adds mischievously, "It means I'm going to give birth to a baby human. Like me, maybe not like you."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No..."

"But ... it's only been three months ... we're only eighteen..."

"I don't think getting pregnant works on numbers."

A long moment of silence. And then:

"I don't believe it!" he yells, laughing. "When's it due? Is it a boy or a girl? What are we gonna call it?"

She laughs, partly with relief. "Calm down, Chaff. I can only answer one question at a time."

He grins and jumps up, kissing her passionately.

"This," he declares to her, "is the best day of my life."

"Worth waking me up for, then?"

He just smiles and kisses her.

_**04:00**_

The walls seem to enclose on him as he sits by her bed, holding her hand in the dark. He hasn't cried. He won't cry in front of her. Not until she's better.

"Chaff?" she breathes.

"I'm here."

"I know."

He feels her breathing becoming more laboured. He stops himself from holding her hand tighter. He wants to bring her back.

It's nearly four o'clock in the morning. His four year old daughter died two hours ago from the same illness. He refuses to let his wife go too.

If only the Capitol would send the medicine. He'd do _anything_.

He feels her grip loosening.

"Stay here," he says desperately. "Stay alive for me, Lemma!" Her breathing is fainter. "Dammit, Lemma."

Fainter still.

"Please."

The clock strikes four into absolute silence.

Her hand falls away.

_**05:00**_

They eye the buildings.

"We really going to do this?"

Chaff smiles lazily. "Course."

"If we get caught, they'll whip us."

"Yeah. But it'll be funny."

"You know they've got cameras, right?"

"That's why we've got masks on."

Fescue realises that no amount of logic is going to save them so sighs and grips his rock. Chaff moves forward, adopting a limp, and then hurls a bundle of mud and manure at the Peacekeeper's building. Then he limps away, never looking at the ground. He hears the other boys throwing their items. And as he moves to one of the areas without camera cover, he grins.

Getting up at five will be worth it just to see the looks on the Peacekeepers faces. There'll be punishment. But he's fourteen and if you don't rebel when you're young, how can you keep on fighting when you're old?

_**06:00 **_

He's surprised his hand doesn't tremble, even after all this time, as he moves the knife down the wood. The years of alcohol consumption have taken their toll in most other respects. But in this one, small thing, it has almost no bearing. It's not because it's his talent. It's because ... just because.

He stares into the slowly lighting sky through the window before looking down at the small toy. It's a small spinning top. Not as good as the ones he made when he first worked out how to carve around his missing hand but he supposes nothing he makes now can be as good as the items he made for his daughter then.

But this is his talent. Imperfect wooden toys. Lemma would want him to keep them. She always did like hoarding and she would view every item as having worth, even ones made at six in the morning for no purpose other than insomnia. So he places it on his worktable and spins it for her as the sun slowly rises.

_**07:00**_

Seeder finds him listlessly moving back and forth on the swing. His feet drag a small dent into the ground. His hand is curled tightly around the chain as though he's scared he's going to fall.

"What?" he asks when he sees her.

There is silence and then she hugs him. He doesn't move but he relaxes in the tight grip. This is what he needs. Someone to hold him and make the pain go away.

"They're dead," he whispers bitterly. He looks up at his mentor's calm face. "Last night, I had a family. Three hours ago I lost them both."

She continues to hold him as the first tears he has cried since he was eleven overcome him.

"It hurts more than the Games did," he whispers.

"I know," she replies.

_**08:00**_

They stand on the shifting sands. It's hot but the sun is still rising in the sky. It will get hotter yet. The girl sneers at him. He smiles his easy grin, trying to ignore the wound in his leg and his desperate thirst.

"Come on then," he says. He wonders how many people will be watching at this hour of the morning.

"You're dead," she snarls and lunges forward, swinging expertly with her sword. He jumps backwards. She lunges again and he sidesteps. Seeing her frustration, he laughs. It does its purpose – she becomes angrier. He smashes his club into her shoulder.

She moves, gasping with pain and slices her sword at him. He tries to parry with the club but he's misjudged and suddenly, it's the worst pain he's ever felt. White light fills his eyes and he stumbles. He just about manages to dodge the flailing sword as he sees, on the floor, sand-covered already, his hand and club.

He looks up and meets her eyes. There is a gleam of triumph there. So he smiles his easy grin through the pain and with his remaining hand, he throws the knife he keeps in his belt at her. As she stumbles, with the blade lodged in her stomach, he runs forward and pulls the sword from her grip before quickly beheading her.

As the cannon fires, he looks at the blood pouring from his arm. There is a moment of triumph as he realises he's won. Then he sways before joining his opponent in the sand.

_**09:00**_

He strides back to the Mentors' room, his face as calm as always.

"How'd it go?" Ruta asks him.

"It didn't," he answers, shrugging. "They aren't interested. Can't say I blame them."

"Chaff!"

"Do you really think they're gonna survive?"

She hesitates.

"See," he says smugly. "Anyhow, I'm gonna get myself some breakfast. Canteen is open at nine, yeah?"

"I don't believe you,"

"I'm hungry."

"Not that." The youngest mentor glares at him. "You. You're not as uncaring as you say you are."

"Listen, lass – come back when you've been at this for twenty years and then tell me you still care."

"I saw you giving them tips last night. And showing them a few throws."

"They asked."

"And I heard you trying to get those sponsors yesterday morning. Men who don't care don't argue like that."

He shrugs and starts to walk away. He tells himself he doesn't really care about the tributes. But part of him is thinking about that bottle of alcohol he has saved which he'll refuse to drink unless and until he has no one to mentor.

He hates it when Ruta is right.

_**10:00**_

He gets a beating from the teacher at precisely ten o'clock in the morning. He knows because his eyes are focussed on the clock as it happens.

He should know by now not to question what the teacher tells them. He's eight years old and his parents have always told him to keep his head down. He knows he's stupid because no one else gets into this amount of trouble. But he just thinks that things can't be as he's taught.

Which is how he ended up with this beating. For questioning the Capitol. He didn't even know he was doing it.

After the beating, she lets him go to play with the other kids. All of the other boys are outside and he decides, then and there, that he won't let anyone see how much he hurts. So he tells them he's fine and he's tougher than they are. They laugh in admiration and invite him to play. So he does, ignoring how much it aches to move.

If they're going to beat him for asking a question, he's going to prove to them that he can take it. And one day, he's going to get his revenge.

_**11:00**_

It's not supposed to be a big ceremony but somehow, everyone knows about it. It's a big thing, he's told. He tells them it's none of their business. But people are outside when he walks out, dressed in his finest clothes. And as soon as he sees them, he places his trademark grin on his face and moves with his usual saunter.

They follow him to the main square and the registry office. He almost asks Fescue whether they're going to come into the building as well but his friend, as though sensing his intent, nudges him through the doorway. The door remains open and people look through.

He drops the smirk when he sees her. She's beautiful. No, more than that – she's breath-taking. She's dressed in her best clothes and when Fescue dryly suggests they move to the desk, he can only nod.

The registrar smiles when he sees them and holds out the book for them to sign.

"By law, I'm required to tell you that by signing this book, you will both be married. If either of you are having second thoughts, now's the time to voice them."

"Second thoughts?" Lemma asks Chaff.

"Never," he says.

The registrar holds out the pen to Chaff who signs the book, still looking at her. He steps back and watches her do the same.

"Well then," says the registrar. "I believe you can now kiss your wife."

He kisses her deeply as everyone around them cheers.

_**12:00 – Noon**_

The pedestal rises, just before noon, and the sun beats down on him. He looks around. He's on a platform, on the water. The Cornucopia is in the middle of the circle. Filled to the brim with weapons.

When he stood in a similar position, exactly thirty years ago, he knew he could win. But when he looks around now, he can only think that he's not going to make it out of this one. It'll be his final fight. He was strong then – strong, whole and young. Now he's old, alcohol-dependent and only has one hand.

A few people away from him is Peeta Mellark. His only real objective is to make sure Peeta and Katniss survive. He knew his death would be irrelevant. As long as they get out alive. For the good of Panem.

And he's sure he can do that. He's always been a fighter. Never gives up. And, really, is forty-six _that_ old? He makes himself stand up straight. He _will_ save them. If he's going down, he's going down fighting.

The gong sounds.

_**13:00**_

It strikes him that one o'clock in the afternoon is a very strange time for a drink. The thought makes him pause as his fingers wrap around the cool glass of the bottle. Why is he drinking now?

Because the world is unbearable. It's just a drink. To take the edge off the sadness he's felt since his family died and his tributes died. It's just to get him through the day and then he can tackle it properly tomorrow.

He's only drunk at night, before. Then a few times in the early evening. Once or twice at mid-afternoon. But there was always a special reason for it. Just like now. If he doesn't have a drink now, he thinks he might go crazy.

It scares him how much he wants this drink. But there's something which feels _wrong_ about drinking at one o'clock in the afternoon.

He opens the bottle and drinks. Somehow, it's just not as satisfying as usual.

_**14:00**_

He can hear the clock strike two as he sits in the Justice Building. He feels like someone else is moving him around and he's just observing. But they open the door and let his parents in and when he sees their tears, he knows he's in this for real.

It's the 45th Games and he's the male tribute of District 11.

"Oh, Chaff," his mother says before bursting into tears. He walks over to her and gives her a hug.

"Calm down," he says. "It'll be OK."

"How can you say that, Chaff?" his father asks angrily.

He shrugs. "Come on, it's gotta be better than me saying I'm gonna die." He smiles his easy smile. "They can't keep me down. I'll just go in and fight."

Part of him wonders if that's how he got in there today. The Peacekeepers are well aware of him. Not many teenagers create so much trouble and get off the hook. Not many were whipped at fifteen.

"Chaff," his mother says again.

"Don't worry," he says and now confidence oozes from him. "I'm coming back home. You'll see."

His father just sighs and shakes his head.

_**15:00**_

"What do you think?" Brutus says to him. "Cato or Thresh?"

Chaff shrugs. "Thresh's a strong lad. See what he did to your lass."

He's pleased to see Brutus scowl. "She was caught unaware. But Cato's prepared now. And he's angry."

"Angry folk tend to make mistakes."

Brutus is silent for a moment before letting loose a bark of laughter and clasping Chaff warmly on the shoulder. "You're my kind of man, Chaff. Always said that about you."

Chaff laughs but, secretly, he hopes he isn't Brutus' kind of man. He likes to think there's a difference between them. Brutus fights to fight. Chaff fights because he has to.

Together, they watch Cato track down Thresh and then see the fight between them. Chaff has high hopes for Thresh. He's the sort of tribute who deserves to win. Even letting Katniss Everdeen go is something that Chaff can't fault him for. Not really. He likes to think he would have done the same (although part of him thinks he wouldn't).

None of the kids Chaff has mentored have ever won. But he knows, he just knows, that Thresh can do it. If Thresh wins, Chaff will feel like he can walk tall again for a reason other than sheer stubbornness.

On the screen, he sees Thresh's sword fly from his hand. Thresh let Cato pick his sword up when he dropped it. But Cato just laughs and stabs him, telling him to tell Rue who sent him.

"Look at that!" Brutus shouts triumphantly. "Told you, Chaff. My boy's gonna be the victor."

An empty hollowness fills him. He sees Haymitch (startlingly and disgustingly sober) shooting him a sympathetic look. He stands up and leaves the room, ignoring Brutus' triumphant crowing.

By three-thirty, he's almost completely drunk.

_**16:00**_

His first day in the fields is when he is seven years old. He's not given as much to do as his parents but it's tiring and by four o'clock, he's exhausted. His back aches, his hands ache and he half wishes he could go to school instead.

As he straightens, he looks around and is immediately told to get back to work by a Peacekeeper. He makes the mistake of saying he was just stopping for a moment. The Peacekeeper isn't enough of a bully to attack a child but he shouts that Chaff will stop when _he_ says to stop.

(Later, someone will tell him that he should always say he's stretching a cramp. Most of the Peacekeepers will nod and tell him to get back to work)

Chaff glares at the Peacekeeper who raises his whip threateningly. As he goes back to work, he wonders why they don't do anything to stop them ordering him about. But he knows everyone's scared of being hurt. So he goes back to work silently.

_**17:00**_

For the first time since he was eight, he questions the wisdom of his anti-authority campaign. He's been caught once or twice but this was clearly the excuse they were waiting for. He should have been more careful. He shouldn't have joined in the girl's fight and caused a ruckus. And he _definitely_ shouldn't have spoken back to that Peacekeeper.

He looks guiltily at the girl as they stand by the whipping post. She's already been whipped and her back is bloody. She's gasping with pain. But before he can do anything, he's pushed forward. And then the whip lands on his back. He arches and grits his teeth. He will _not_ scream.

The clock chimes five as the final lash falls on his back. His teeth ache with the effort of not yelling. He tries to stand but he's not sure his legs will support him. But he smiles cockily, until the Peacekeeper "nudges" him and he topples.

A few minutes later, someone helps him stand up. Fescue. He sees that another of his friends has picked the girl up. Tears are running down her face. She received less lashes than he did though so she's a little sturdier.

"Hi," he gasps, trying to see through the bright lights in his vision. "Sorry I got you whipped."

A small smile flickers onto her face. "That's OK."

"I'm Chaff. Would shake your hand but I'm not sure I can."

She just smiles again. "That's OK," she repeats. Her voice sounds faint. "I'm Lemma."

And _then_ his world turns black.

_**18:00 **_

Chaff is born at six pm on 17th December in the year of the twenty-eighth Hunger Games. He is the second to be born but the only one to survive: his twin sister dies within a few hours, too weak to live. His parents never tell him about her – he finds out when he's thirty-two and looking through some old documents.

The weather is cold and his father is shivering as he holds his son. But Chaff is surprisingly calm in his father's arms. And when he grips his father's finger, his father smiles.

"Someday," he says to his wife, "he's going to make us proud. I can tell."

_**19:00**_

"Alright, let's eat!"

Chaff looks blearily around the table. He's not convinced he's entirely sober but he thinks he did a good job.

"We don't see you very often anymore," Harv comments to Chaff as they start to eat.

"I guess I ... guess I'm not out on the fields anymore," Chaff replies.

Fescue looks at him and smiles. "Alright for some, isn't it?"

Chaff tries to smile. "Yeah. Well. Had to get out before they beat me up, yeah?"

Everyone laughs. Chaff takes a deep gulp of the water Fescue has given them. No alcohol. He can't afford it. And he won't take money off Chaff.

Poa mentions some old gossip and soon everyone is talking about it. Chaff is silent as he wonders whether this is what he would have been like if things had worked out better. But then he imagines Lemma and realises she's annoyed with him. He makes more of an effort to join in after that. He laughs at people's jokes. He tells humorous anecdotes. He tries to keep up with various people's children.

It surprises him by being the first time in fifteen years that he's truly enjoyed himself without alcohol.

_**20:00**_

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Panic fills his mind. He can't go back. He can't do it. He won't do it. There is nothing which will make him go back into that arena and fight.

His next thoughts are ones of hope. There is one other male victor in District 11. He might be sixty-three and ill but he could be called.

Disgust. Is he so far gone that he'd be happy to sacrifice someone else over him?

He realises he's trembling. He doesn't want to go back into that arena. But there's a fifty per cent chance and somehow, he knows it's going to be him.

_**21:00**_

"Daddy?"

He looks up. "Zizania, it's past your bedtime."

"Can't sleep."

She smiles at him and he feels his heart melt. He bends down and scoops her up with his good hands. She places her hand on his stump and he ignores the itchy feeling of his missing limb.

"Can't sleep?" he asks. She shakes her head. "You know what we do to lasses who can't sleep?" She shakes her head. "We swing them around!"

He can't actually move her that far because he can't grip her properly but it's enough for her. She's giggling and asking him to do it again when Lemma walks in.

"It's past her bedtime," she says reprovingly.

Chaff puts Zizania on the floor. "You heard your mom, kid."

"OK." She yawns and gives Chaff a hug. "I love you, Daddy."

He smiles. "Love you too, Zizania."

_**22:00**_

Seeder finds him sitting on a wall in the Victors' Section.

"Aren't you meant to be in your house?" she asks him.

"Can't I do what I want?" he asks sullenly. His hand moves to grip fingers which are no longer there.

"I thought your family and friends were throwing you a welcome back party."

"Yep."

"Which you're graciously avoiding. I see."

Chaff hesitates but decides that if there's anyone he can tell, it's Seeder.

"I was in there, and I looked around, and I ... I saw them."

"Who?"

"Everyone from the Games. Even the ones I never saw in the arena. And then Fescue asked if I was OK and all I could think was that they're all dead." He's gasping now. He can't remember the last time he was this unsettled. Not even in the Games. "No one in there gets it."

"So you came out here."

"I can't do it, Seeder," he says. "I can't go back in there and pretend nothing's happened. I can't. They don't understand."

"It's tough," Seeder says, "but life moves on. If you give up now, you won't be happy."

"But-"

"I'm not saying forget the arena. I'm saying you should be stronger."

He thinks for a moment. "I could try."

"I know you can do it."

He smiles. "Thanks." He jumps off the wall. "It gets better, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

He starts to walk and then something occurs to him. "But it'll never go away completely, will it?"

She hesitates but he knows Seeder will always tell him the truth. "No," she says. "It won't."

He nods. "I thought so," he says and walks back to the house.

_**23:00**_

He heard the insects start clicking a while ago but he can't judge time. He thinks they only go for an hour but he has no way to tell.

He's been searching for Peeta and Katniss since the Games began while trying to keep an eye on any other tributes who may cause problems. He doesn't know when the plan is going ahead and in the back of mind, he knows that if he doesn't find them, they will have trouble picking him up. But he can pretend he knew nothing. After all, Seeder is already dead.

He pushes down the grief that has stayed with him since his mentor and friend died, just in time to see Brutus running towards Peeta. He doesn't even think about it: he launches himself at the man and knocks him over.

"Chaff!" Brutus yells.

Chaff draws his fist back and thumps Brutus in the stomach. Then he fumbles for his knife but Brutus has already leapt towards him, sword in hand.

It happens quickly. A quick thrust before Chaff can move and a pain like fire in his stomach. A brief look of regret and even an, _I'm sorry_ because Brutus considered himself Chaff's friend, regardless of his own plans for the Games.

He sees Peeta lunge towards Brutus' back as the world blackens and Seeder walks towards him, pointing towards two figures. Lemma and Zizania.

He knew it would end this way. But if he's saved Peeta then his faded bruises, his long-gone scars and his stump were all worth it. Maybe this was the fight which saved Panem.

He smiles as he takes Lemma's hand.

One of his fights had to do it, right?

_**Fin**_


End file.
